Chapter 5

Lauren tilted her head exactly eighteen degrees, moving her body into a three-point stance that she knew showed her figure off to best advantage. Not that anyone was looking at her, but in her experience, someone was always looking at someone, and she wanted to be prepared.

It was the only armor she had.

Dimitri moved forward rapidly, barking to the guard in terse O?rois, relaying another order on its heels. King Jasen and Prince Kristos, both to be summoned immediately, once the danger was assessed.

The first blank wash of fear ebbed away as quickly as it had overtaken her. The king and the prince? Over a box? Lauren opened her mouth to take it all back, to play down her reaction, to smooth everything over—but words wouldn’t come right away.

Dimitri stood, scowling down at the package, and she blinked, trying to refocus. “You’re sure?” he growled.

“Yes, sir,” said the young woman in a palace uniform at his side. “Absolutely, sir. Nothing inside.”

Another wave of panic seized her. Relax! she ordered herself, but unlike Dimitri, she wasn’t as good at masking her emotions when she wasn’t the center of attention. It was as if she could only dance on the marionette’s strings when the curtain was up. Something she needed to work on, but?—

Then eyes were upon her once again, and her training kicked in. She lifted her chin, willing her expression to clear as Dimitri scowled in her direction. “You know who sent this?”

“I thought I did.” She nodded, unsure how to play this. Go with something he can understand, something simple, easy. Something not insane. “That—that packaging is a signature look of someone I know, someone who plays with electronics, tracking devices, that sort of thing.”

Dimitri’s brows went up. “Tracking. Who is this person?”

She blinked at him. “Oh, um.” Stupid! She should have known he’d ask that question first, and Henry Smithson was no more a tech-head than she was. But he was dangerous, at least to her, and he or one of his stooges could quite easily enter the castle grounds if he wanted to. His little present proved that clearly enough. What if he was here, in the city? What if she truly had something to worry about?

“Who is it?” Dimitri asked again, and she shook herself back to the present.

“Henry Smithson—he’s not a criminal.” Not exactly. “He’s just—a friend. Of the family’s. Who sometimes likes to play games.” And oh, the games he played.

“Henry Smithson.” Dimitri flicked a glance to a man standing at the side of the room, then back to her. “American?”

“Expat. Lives part time in England, part time in...I don’t know. Wherever it suits him, I guess. I thought he was in Brazil. But again, he’s not going to be in any criminal database. He’s simply a very rich man who...”

“Likes to play games.” Without saying anything further, Dimitri appeared to dismiss the woman at his side, who turned and left silently. Dimitri waved the box toward Lauren. “What else has he sent?”

She managed a shrug. “What do you mean?”

“He’s sent you other things, in boxes like this. You or perhaps your family, but I’m thinking it’s you. What? And when did it start?”

Smile, dammit. Tell him something that makes sense. “Well, the reason why I was alarmed...He’d send digital recorders with conversations of my voice that I couldn’t imagine how he’d captured. But it wasn’t all bad.” Smile. Smile. Wave your hand. “He’d also send chocolate and jewelry, clothing sometimes.” And also dead things. Scorpions. Locks of hair from her own head or her sister’s. Newspaper clippings of injured friends. “It became a little unnerving because I didn’t know what it might be, or why he might be sending them.”

“And always in this type of box?” He gestured with the package again, and Lauren fought not to get queasy.

“Yes, I’m so sorry. Looking at it now, it’s an ordinary box, I know. Black paper and white ribbon isn’t that distinctive. But, well, it’s what he always uses. And that’s why I didn’t want it in the palace. I thought—well, I thought it was some sort of recorder, but...” She shook her head. “If you say the box was empty, then I’m so sorry. I must be completely turned around.” She lifted a hand to her mouth, feigning mortification. She didn’t need to act all that convincingly. “Or maybe a bit tipsy.”

Dimitri didn’t waver. “Does this Smithson know you’re here?”

Her stomach knotted. “I didn’t think so, but...”

He spoke her next thought aloud. “The paparazzi.” His scowl deepened. “In the wake of Emmaline and Kristos’s announcement, and all the coverage that followed. If you weren’t on his radar screen before, you are now. You say he’s a friend of your family’s? Or of yours?”

“My father’s, most directly.” Straighten your spine. Smile. “He certainly paid a lot of attention to me, but I was a little girl when we first met, and a bit excitable. I was an easy target.” She waved toward the box. “Still am, I guess.”

“Do not apologize for your fear. It’s there for a reason.” Dimitri’s gruff absolution hit Lauren exactly the wrong way. The panic she always endured when it came to Henry Smithson clawed at the back of her throat, urging her to tell him the truth, but her ingrained sense of self-preservation smacked it back. Now, she needed to get out of there. To do that, she merely had to play to Dimitri’s expectations.

“Thank you.” She smiled and deliberately made it quavery, moving her hand to her hair as if to swat away some imaginary wisp. “I—oh, should I stay for the king? I feel so silly.”

“Not at all.” Dimitri gestured to one of the staff members, another female, who stepped quickly to Lauren’s side.

“Come with me, Miss Grant. I’ll take you to your rooms.”

“Thank you—I...” Too much? Too little? Get out of here, urged a voice in her head. She didn’t know how well Dimitri had studied her over the past few days, but the captain wasn’t a complete idiot. Surely he could read people’s emotions and know the ones that resonated the strongest. And surely her fear was pinging off the radar.

She turned to the staff member, smiling broadly. “That would be lovely,” she said, forcing herself to slow down, to modulate her voice despite the impact of the alcohol and her own fear making her want to shout. She couldn’t look again at Dimitri, though. Instead, she left the foyer without a backward glance.

Her heart pounded all the way back to the guest chambers, where she, Emmaline, Nicki, and Fran all shared an extended guest suite. When she approached, she heard their voices, and she steadied herself further. Usually the sound of her friends’ laughter would have been soothing to her, presaging a carefree respite. Not today, though. Not when her mind was reeling. They’d know too much, pepper her with questions. She didn’t want to face them.

Impulsively, she put out a hand and stopped the attendant. “Thank you, but—is there someplace I could go to be alone for a little while? I don’t want to worry my friends, but I...I’m not feeling too well.”

The training of the palace attendant was evident as she nodded, completely unperturbed by Lauren’s request or by her trembling hand. “Of course, Miss Grant. We have a lovely sitting room down the corridor. When you are feeling more yourself, you may retire to your suite at your leisure. Would that be acceptable?”

“Of course—yes. Thank you.” Lauren closed her hands into fists to keep from crying, a reaction completely out of step with the attendant’s words. She was still a little drunk, was all. She was overreacting. She needed to pull it together.

The room was as advertised. Small, cozy, and quiet, it seemed a lovely oasis as the attendant stepped quickly across the room and turned on two low-light lamps. There was a long couch and two chairs in front of a gas fireplace, which the attendant helpfully turned on despite the fact that it was early summer. A cheery flame leapt up in the grate, and Lauren’s knees wobbled a little. One of the chairs had a cotton throw folded over it, and she angled for it now. Vertigo struck her hard, but she steadied herself enough to turn and thank the attendant.

“No problem at all, Miss Grant.” The woman bowed and left the room as quietly as she’d entered it, and Lauren practically dove for the chair, pulling the soft blanket around her with shaking hands.

For a long minute, she stared at the fire climbing in the grate. Then she pawed at her purse, snapping it open long enough to pull out the phone. She didn’t need to dial anyone, though.

The text was waiting for her.

How I’ve missed you.